--------------------------

February 01, 2013

I remember, as a teenager, watching a
television show with my mother. It was called "Who Lives In A
House Like This?" and the show's host would poke around a
celebrity's home and then invite a panel to guess who the celebrity
was. You could usually get quite a lot of information about the
house's inhabitants from the interior, including their ages.

In our flat, it is abundantly clear
that one of the people who lives here is a baby.

The baby furniture is a dead giveaway
of course - the garish play gym in the corner of the living room, the
playpen in the dining room, the heirloom cradle in the bedroom that
was designed and built by my father. But there's more to it than that
- it's as though a layer of small items has been laid over our house,
a veritable patina of babyness.

There are clean bottles lined up by the
kettle, dirty ones clustered by the sink. If you were to open the
microwave, you would find the sterilizer that has taken up
semi-permanent residence within.

The clothes horse in the boxroom is
strewn with white babygros, blue muslin squares, pastel flannel
blankets. Our own clothes are relegated to drip-drying on hangers
because there just isn't room for them any more. I congratulate
myself on my decision to forgo the environmentally-friendly but
washing-intensive cloth nappies.

Our bedroom chest of drawers is piled
with clothes that are too big for the baby yet, but I haven't found a
place to store them. A box nearby is full of tiny clothes that he has
already outgrown, and I will vacuum-pack them and store them for
future siblings or cousins. Some day.

My husband's side of the bed is
littered with very small clothes that smell of sunshine, dumped there
this morning when I needed the clothesbasket for a load of towels. At
the rate this child goes through clothes, sometimes there doesn't
seem to be much point in putting them back in the drawers...

Right now the bathroom looks like a
bomb exploded in it - the aftermath of the nightly bath. The plastic
bathtub is lying on the floor instead of on top of the
washing-machine where it belongs, because after serving as a
bath-stand, the washine-machine must then do double duty as a
changing table, since I am loath to take my naked baby out of the
nice warm bathroom and into the cold dining-room where the official
changing table resides.

There are dirty baby clothes on the
floor where I dropped them next to the used nappy, and both of the
other available surfaces contain the clean clothes that I changed my
mind about putting on him. The baby soap bottle is on the shelf over
the sink, and the bath thermometer in the form of a purple octopus is
sitting on the toilet cistern, although there is a place for both of
them in the box of baby bath stuff - also currently on the floor.
There is a small, wet, green towel on the box. One corner of it has
been sewn into a hood, decorated to look like a monster's head. There
are few things cuter than a freshly-bathed baby boy wearing a green
monster hood.

The rest of the bathroom floor is taken up by a baby
bouncer, that boon of parents and a great help when one is attempting
to bathe and change a baby single-handedly. As with so many other
daily tasks, I managed to accomplish bathtime, but at the end of it I
had an armful of baby demanding that I do something else other than
tidy up. I will sort this all out first thing tomorrow, if for no
other reason than it is currently impossible to get to the shower.

Our study is in the process of being
transformed into the baby's room - a project we have deferred since
he will be sleeping in the cradle in our room for a few more months.
Even so, once again it is clear that a baby is in residence. The
dresser boasts a row of baby books, the genesis of a nursery library,
while inside it are boxes of shoes and toys, waiting for him to be
old enough for them. Our computer and desk are still in there, beside
the dresser. The back of the desk holds a row of books on
ethnography, but the rest of the desk features a tube of teething
gel, a cloth baby book, and a brightly-coloured teether toy, too new
to show any signs of wear from being enthusiastically gummed all day.

The desk also features two baby items
that are often to be found on my bedside table, on the living room
coffee table, and indeed on any flat surface in our home - a bowl of
water (for cooling down bottles) and large muslin square (used for
wiping up spit-up and dribble).

While I was in the process of mentally
formulating this post, it occurred to me that there remained one
place in our flat that did not feature any babyness - the two
cupboards by the front door that we use to dump junkmail and bills
and bags and miscellaneous flotsam on.

But wait, I was wrong.

Sure enough, on one of the cupboards
there sits a tin of baby formula, a gift from Santa Claus, delivered
to my parents' house by that jolly old soul but not yet placed on the
shelf of the pantry where I keep the unopened formula, nappies and
baby wipes.

We hope that siblings will follow in
the coming years, which I imagine will lead to even more children's
stuff. I wonder how many times I will have to bite back a shout when
I tread, barefoot at midnight, on a stray piece of lego, or how many
times I will fish crayons from underneath various items of furniture.
It seems that a tidying-up policy, properly enforced, will be vital.

I surprisingly enjoy the feeling that
the baby has occupied, in some way, every room of the house. It is,
after all, a reflection of how our daily lives are now dominated by
his needs. Later I will probably feel the need to claw back some part
of the flat for myself, perhaps turn the master bedroom into a
child-free sanctuary once the baby is installed in his own bedroom,
but for now I am happy to see that we have assimilated this new
member of our family.

March 31, 2008

Jenny has been back home for two and a half days since being neutered, and she's a lot better. She's eating and drinking (although at first she turned her nose up at the new specially-for-neutered-cats food that the vet's nurse told me to mix in with her normal food).

She's also getting a bit more active - she's spent lots of time curled up on me this weekend, but she also made it to some of her favourite haunts, e.g. on top of the modem.

It has occured to me that perhaps this is not such as good thing for the modem since (a) she now weighs more than five kilos, and (b) the thing might overheat. I suppose the best thing would be to build some sort of a cage over it.

Jenny also likes to sit on top of the monitor, and the stack of books over there is to help her because she was scrambling up there anyway and I had visions of her busting her stitches.

You can see where part of her side was shaved - white fuzz has already started to grow back. Mike thinks she looks hilarious, but I don't mention it because I don't want the poor kitty to feel self-conscious. Miskina.

March 28, 2008

When I picked up Jennyanydots from the vet's, reeking of medicine, she was still asleep but became more alert by the time we got home.

She was really groggy so I got a fleece baby blanket, cuddled her in it, and was following the nurse's instructions to give her lots and lots of fsied.

Jenny wasn't having any of that though. After about five minutes she tried to get off my lap, and when I lowered her to the floor she buggered off down the corridor. I followed her because I was worried - she was nearly falling over every few steps! I carried her to where she could choose whether to head for her kitty litter box, or for her food and water, because I wasn't sure what she wanted (not allowed food and water till tomorrow anyway).

But no, she uncurled herself and continued to lurch down the corridor.

Was she maybe heading for the toilet to drink from it? I had already closed the bathroom door so she wouldn't be able to get at water.

Hah, she staggered right past the bathroom into the bedroom, where she collapsed on a pile of dirty laundry.

OK, I thought, I shall get a book and lie down next to her to keep her company.

Then the phone rang, and when I got back Jenny had disappeared... after a quick search I found her under the bed. She couldn't have made it clearer that she wanted me to Leave. Her. Alone.

OK, I can take a hint. I often feel that way myself.

So I got a couple more fleece baby blankets (I got four from Tal-Lira last year, I love them) and I put them under the bed so that she could make herself more comfortable and hopefully keep warm. Who knows, maybe she'll join me later on. Miskina.

March 25, 2008

Easter weekend was nice, especially since St. Joseph's fell two days before Good Friday so that was two Public Holidays in the same week.

Unfortunately, I didn't get much sleep because the whole long weekend coincinded with our kitten's latest cycle of estrus, i.e. she was in heat.

Having never owned a cat before, I had no idea how horrible it is to share living space with a female feline in heat. So far she's had two or three cycles, and at first we didn't know what was going on, but we soon figured it out.

Jenny's usual whine is annoying enough (it's an all-purpose whine, used for "give me food/attention"), but during estrus she takes her vocalisations to a whole new level. Louder, for one thing, with vibrating overtones that are probably the feline equivalent of a husky drivetime voice.

The rest of Jenny's behaviour would make even a shameless hussy blush. She becomes even more affectionate than usual, and likes to rub her head against anything available, but she also goes into what Mike calls "Ferrari mode". She crouches down low on all fours, sticks her bum up in the air (or in your face if you're lying down), and, just to make things absolutely clear, moves her tail out of the way to the side.

Shameless.

During estrus, Jenny spends all day (and all night) yowling what I assume is "I want to have sex. Now. Someone please have sex with me.", and since we live in a flat I had to think of a way to keep her quiet at night so that the neighbours don't sic the police on us.

The only thing that seems to work is to let her sleep in the bed with me, which means that I just spent five consecutive nights with five and a half kilos of cat sprawled on various parts of my body. At least she didn't try to sleep on my face. Since I am a light sleeper at the best of times, I didn't get more than half-an-hour of unbroken sleep. Aaaagrh. And don't tell me this is good training for having kids, I don't want to know.

Jenny's cycles seems be around five days of feeling horny followed by about a week of normal behaviour. I checked on the Internet, and was horrified to read that this could go on until September. You have got to be kidding me. Little Sis warned us to get Jenny spayed before she matured, but we were lazy and didn't get around to it. If we had known then what it would be like...

On Saturday, after a whole day of Jenny's vocalisations, I was a nervous, sleep-deprived, tearful wreck. Michael, alarmed, has made an appointment this week for Jenny to be spayed - better for me (more sleep, less stress), better for Jenny (likewise less stress, as apparently unsatisfied cats feel stress), and better for Mike (doesn't have to deal with a stressed wife or a stressed cat).

Jenny won't feel very happy for a couple of days afterwards but I'll give her lots of TLC, which she likes.

Then when she's recovered, we're going to get her a little brother from the SPCA. Hopefully she will have fun playing with him, because I think she gets lonely when we're both at work. I'm also hoping that she won't be the sort of big sister that leads her siblings into mischief (because I was exactly that sort of big sister, and put my poor mother through a lot).

August 21, 2007

Isn't it nice when someone who knows you well says to you, oooh, come listen to this song, and they turn up the volume, and you realise it's the song you heard on the radio the day before and loved and were disappointed that you only caught the tail end of it and couldn't work out what song it was so you could get it.

I'm going to miss my sisters!

P.S. it's even funnier when you realise that you actually downloaded the song a week ago but just hadn't got around to putting it in your playlist...

February 23, 2007

I had a great birthday, although it didn't start so well since I found another white hair in the morning, lol.

My nearest and dearest sent me emails and sms's through the day, which was lots of fun and made me feel warm and fuzzy :-)

I also received some fantastic presents - from my parents, a Lightscribe DVD writer drive (which I didn't even know existed!). The laser can actually etch directly onto CDs, how cool is that? My sisters gave me a CD label machine for when I'm caught without lightscribe CDs, heheheheh.

And from Michael, well, he didn't give me the jazz sneakers he said he'd give me. Hah.

He and I were due to go out to dinner on my birthday (which was conveniently on a Friday this year), and I picked the King's Own Band Club in Valletta. As an aside, I chose this place because some friends mentioned that they had a really good meal there. Michael was surprised, and when I asked him why he'd never taken me there, he said, "Well, it's not exactly a place you'd take your girlfriend to!". I assured him that it would be a fine place to take his wife-to-be to, and we're glad we went because the food was great!

Anyway, Mike was supposed to meet me there, but he got held up. While waiting for him, a couple of friends took me for a drink to celebrate, which was fun - we talked about theatre and music, and when one of them noticed the violin-themed background on my phone, I explained about how I'd been wanting a violin for ages, but was still waiting.

Eventually Michael sms'd me to meet him outside the Phoenicia because he wanted me to help him "carry something into Valletta".

I recognised this as a transparent ploy, and figured he'd made reservations somewhere else instead of the Band Club, as a surprise.

I definitely was NOT expecting what I found on the back seat of the van...

Is that cool or is that cool?

So I have been massacring Beethoven's 9th and sundry other undeserving pieces of music, and am working my way through A New Tune A Day For Violin, which comes with a very cool backing CD so I can sound all professional while simply playing open strings. Heheheh, I love it!

I have a technique; I prop up the book on my sideboard that's almost at eye level, and open up a media player on my PC and load the violin CD. Then I have a quick practice of my current melody, then press play on the media player, then dash across the room to the sideboard and squint under my right arm at the notes while sawing away... maybe I'll invest in a music stand... or take a leaf out of Music Of The Heart and tape the music to the wall!

So that's what I'm doing right now... learning how to play the violin, preparing for musical theatre exams at the end of March, and making appointments for going to try on wedding dresses... fun, fun, fun...

August 28, 2006

Doesn't it feel strange when someone tells you something about yourself that you didn't already know?

It's a bit disconcerting, realising that there are things about yourself that are hidden from you in some way (and maybe even more disconcerting that they are visible to other people!)

Sometimes such situations are rather disagreeable, such as when someone points out a flaw in your character, and after some thought you have to admit that they are right, and you think, oh no, am I really such a horrible person?

But sometimes it's not so bad, sometimes it's simply a case of, oh, I never realised I did that.

Yesterday my godfather, currently visiting from England, offered me some Kinnie. Knowing how much he loves it, I declined, and I did so by raising my left hand in front of me, palm facing him, and then moving it off to my left.

He laughed, and said, "I always associate that gesture with you!".

This left me puzzled, and I spent the next five minutes trying to figure out if I DO habitually make that gesture or if it's just his imagination (well, he does only see me, on average, once a year).

Mind you I do have plenty of mannerisms anyway... I think I'll conduct a little poll of those who know me best and who are most intimately aquainted with my (many) quirks and foibles.

Update: I canvassed my readily-available family members (Dad, Mum, Little Sis) and asked them two questions; (1) Can you mention three of my mannerisms and (2) do I do the *wave left hand* thing a lot?

Little Sis said that two of my mannerisms are that I huff and puff when I'm annoyed (as in, rapid expulsion of air through the mouth) and that instead of laughing I open my mouth and squint. Heh, talk about opening a can of worms... and she said that YES the little wave is something I do a lot, accompanied by, for example, the expressions "Mela!", "Leeeeeeee!", "Alla ħares!", or "And I was the best one!".

*groan*

Dad said that no, he couldn't mention my mannerisms, and that (a) the left-hand wave thing isn't a mannerism, it's a gesture, and (b) I don't usually do it.

And Mum said, I sit cross-legged a lot, and I'm always doing something with my feet, and yes I do the left hand wave a lot.

August 15, 2006

After we got engaged last September, Mike and I started looking for a place to live. We decided to first find a house, then see how long it would take to make it habitable (e.g. several months if it was a shell or old house) and then set a date for the wedding accordingly.

Between the Owner's Best, the Classifieds and various estate agents, we saw properties all over the place in the central/south parts of Malta.

Flats and apartments (don't arsk ME what the difference is), maisonettes of all kinds, houses of character, shells in all stages of completion... we saw a LOT of places.

And I didn't really like any of them except a couple.

Let's face it, these days even when both partners are young professionals, a reasonable housing budget still doesn't buy you much with the prices on the real estate market these days. It's ridiculous.

As time went by, we revised our budget upwards several times, eliminated houses of character as being way too expensive (as well as almost uniformly ridden with damp and with the most inconvenient layouts imaginable) and we were focussing on shells.

Then Mike found a place in the Owner's Best, we went to have a look, and we BOTH liked it (wow) and both sets of parents liked it (double wow) and the architect didn't find anything wrong with it (triple wow), and a couple of weeks ago we signed a kunvenju (hooray!!!!).

What we liked about it is the biiiig rooms - having tramped through the dust of dozens of shells in the last few months, I can say that these days, a "double" bedroom is now smaller than "single" bedrooms used to be - in some cases that we saw, there was barely room for a double bed and you can forget about a wardrobe! This flat that we are buying was built in the late 60's and it's nice and roomy, and although it's more expensive than the shells we were looking at, it's cheaper than what we would have spent to actually finish one, aaaaaand once again let me emphasize, BIGGERER! *grin*

Anyway, with the kunvenju signed and our future place of residence secured (barring dramatic unforeseen events) I finally have the go-ahead to plan the wedding... muahahahahahaha!!!

A recently-married friend very obligingly passed on to me a whole stack of bridal magazines, and me, Mum and Middle Sis passed an enjoyable afternoon today leafing through them and commenting on dresses, flowers, cakes, invitations, etc, etc, etc...

First things first, Mike and I are concentrating on finding a venue - we'll be married in the same venue where the reception will be held, which simplifies things somewhat (I hope!) so now instead of traipsing around Malta looking for somewhere to live, we'll be traipsing around Malta looking for somewhere to get married, lol.

I'm thinking of a hotel since that sounds like a cost-effective option, but I'm open to suggestions if anyone has any :-)

Now I'm off to flip through the stack of leaflets I picked up at the Weddings Fair... who's have thought there were so many wedding venues on the island?